


secondhand emotion

by spacebubble



Series: how did it end up like this? [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Angst, Casual Sex, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Insults, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Canon, Rare Pairings, Situational Humiliation, Some Humor, hints of potential cucking, the Ferengi version of Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Post-canon: Quark has a particular biological problem, and Brunt's happy to help him solve it. So what if it involves hosting the rudest houseguest he's ever had?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- set sometime after the series finale.
> 
> \- zloo-flix idea from jazzypizzaz's [Hungry for Your Touch: An Unfortunate Feast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231773), background info from [this delightful post about Ferengi mating calls](http://death-star510.tumblr.com/post/145329236829/thesylverlining-death-star510-ive-been-thinking). 
> 
> \- i also want to note that i don't endorse this pairing except in a highly conditional way (where brunt is the emotional sub once he gets over himself), but since no one else is writing them, i might as well get my characterization of their ship dynamic out there. stake in the ground, that sort of thing.
> 
> \- **mood music:** [Mr. Brightside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGdGFtwCNBE) (as inspired by [this iconic qrunt doodle](http://pizdulgiver.tumblr.com/post/166507722844/ferengi-are-the-anime-culture)...)

The door chimes and Brunt rushes to open it.

Quark shows up with rain dripping off his hooded cloak, looking wet, desperate, and utterly delectable. It takes all of Brunt's self control not to rub his hands together in glee.

Zloo-flix was no laughing matter, of course. But the consequences of failing to deal with zloo-flix weren't nearly as severe as, say, those of a thwarted Vulcan succumbing to pon-farr. Far less violence involved. Mostly just an agonizing hypersensitivity combined with a prolonged mating urge, one that could only be sated by repeated sex.

And now that urge is directed at Brunt.

 

* * *

 

It takes Brunt a moment to understand what Quark is asking.

He steeples his fingers as he leans closer to the monitor. "So you're saying..."

"I'm _saying,_ " Quark says peevishly, "that I need someone with a smaller dick and better fingers. So can you help me or not?"

Brunt graciously declines to acknowledge the size comparison and focuses on the compliment. "You think my fingers are better?"

Quark rolls his eyes. "Compared to a Karemma's giant fingers, yeah. Any Ferengi's would be."

"Especially mine," Brunt says with a grin.

Quark sighs. "Sure. Whatever. So can I come over? You're not working, so you'll be available, right?"

Brunt winces at the phrasing - unemployment is such an _impolite_ topic of discussion - but he nods. "I might have some social engagements -" (an utter lie) "- but yes, I'll generally be available."

"Okay, great. See you in a few days."

Before Brunt can remind Quark to send over his estimated arrival, Quark ends the transmission.

 

* * *

 

Brunt extends a hand towards the money box by the door and the entrance screen with the requisite legal waivers. "Please place your imprint on - "

Quark does so before Brunt can finish speaking.

Brunt purses his lips, unaccustomed to such haste, but he proceeds with the customary recitations. "Remember, my house is -"

"Your house, as are its contents," Quark interrupts.

Brunt raises a browridge. Degenerate as he is, even Quark makes a point of following the usual Ferengi traditions. Perhaps his condition is more severe than Brunt realized. In that case, they ought to discuss before going further, lest it lead to something more complex -

But before he can say anything, Quark's already stepping closer.

"So where's your bedroom?" Quark asks, abruptly shoving his travel bag into Brunt's arms with enough force to almost knock Brunt off balance.

It hurts a little, physically - Quark's not a light packer, and the bag is surprisingly heavy. Brunt has to use both hands to keep a hold of it.

"Just down the hall," Brunt replies, gesturing in the bedroom's direction before quickly returning his hand to the bag.

"Okay, great," Quark says. "Let's go."

"Now?" Brunt asks, strangely dismayed at the rush. He sets the bag down on the floor. "But I've made reservations for dinner at the newest grubberie -"

"We'll be done before dinner," Quark pipes up. "Unless you eat early, I guess? I don't really know anything about you."

That stings. Brunt hates that it does.

"I eat at a normal and traditional hour," Brunt replies. He disguises his hurt feelings with a snide reminder. "You forgot to make your visitor's deposit in the money box, by the way."

"Oh, right." Quark glances down to fish a slip of latinum out from his cloak pocket. As he does so, Brunt realizes rainwater's trickling down Quark's cloak onto his floor.

"And you're dripping on my rug," Brunt informs him.

"What? Oh." Quark glances down, then makes a face. "Ugh. Where'd you get that?"

"From a merchant who owed me a debt or three," Brunt replies with satisfaction. The rug's threaded with elaborate golden strands that shimmer faintly whenever moonlight hits them - all the better to remind guests of his wealth. "Do you like it?"

"I hate it." Quark wipes his boots on the rug, ignoring Brunt's pained noise in response. "It deserves to get dripped on."

Brunt fumes for a moment, then reminds himself that zloo-flix has a way of making Ferengi irrational. Very irrational. And very vulnerable.

He puts on a smile and holds out his hands.

"Let me take your cloak," Brunt says, "while you go make your visitor's deposit."

"Okay." Quark begins unzipping his cloak, then turns around so Brunt can remove it. Water keeps beading off the (surprisingly high-end) fabric, so Brunt immediately walks it over to the coat rack on the other side of the foyer instead of sneaking a glance at what Quark's wearing underneath.

As Brunt hangs up Quark's cloak, he hears Quark deposit his slip of latinum with slightly more force than necessary. The lack of patience is likely another side effect of the zloo-flix.

"Impatient, are we?" Brunt chuckles before turning to look back at Quark.

He blinks, then swallows hard.

Quark still has his boots on, and very little else.

( _Dark thigh-highs with stiletto heels_ , Brunt now realizes.)

What clothing Quark _does_ have on is mostly sheer, delicate, and alluringly skin-tight. Brunt's eyes slowly rake over the intricate swirling patterns of lace trailing all over Quark's sleeveless bodysuit. The fine black mesh leaves barely anything to the imagination, but Brunt's imagining quite a bit.

"Weren't... aren't you cold?" Brunt asks faintly with the few brain cells he has left.

Quark rests his hands on his hips, drawing Brunt's attention to a ruffled set of _incredibly_ short shorts. "Yeah, that's why I wore a heavyweight cloak. Top-of-the-line Karemman wool blend, weather-resistant, insulated, the works."

"Ah," Brunt says. ( _Karemman?_ ) "Bought during your visit?"

"Yep. Well, it was a gift, but -"

Jealousy flares through Brunt. " _He_ gave it to you?"

"Uh-huh," Quark confirms nonchalantly, though a quick raise of his browridges indicates he heard the shift in Brunt's tone. "He felt bad about the size difference thing. Can we go to bed now?"

For a moment, Brunt just stands there, unsure of what he's feeling.

Not good, that's for certain. He does not feel good about knowing that Hanok bought Quark that cloak, and he definitely did not feel good about knowing the reason. Usually Ferengi didn't buy each other such expensive gifts unless they were trying to make up for something severe.

"Rather luxurious gift," Brunt comments pointedly. "I suppose he felt... quite bad?"

Quark tilts his head, frowning slightly. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

The zloo-flix must be interfering with Quark's cognitive abilities as well. Brunt tries to be patient when he clarifies, "I'm assuming - and this isn't to say he was _intentionally_ doing so - that the cost of the cloak is proportionate to the amount of injury he caused? Was there any bleeding?"

Realization dawns. Quark's mouth drops. "What? No! Hanok would never - I mean, yeah, it hurt, but I was just sore for a while. And he's just rich. Filthy rich. He wasn't trying to make reparations or anything. He's just nice like that. Nice and rich." Quark sighs wistfully. "A little too nice, maybe, and a little too big, but definitely not too rich."

"Oh," Brunt says. His shoulders drop in relief. "Good. I suppose."

Quark gives him a curious look. "Why do you care, anyway?"

It's a good question. Brunt doesn't want to answer it.

"I don't," Brunt replies curtly. He strides forward and grabs Quark's hand. "Follow me."

"That's more like it," Quark says happily, voice hitting a pleased register in response to the rough gesture.

As they walk down the hallway, it occurs to Brunt that he hasn't heard Quark screech once.

Of course, Brunt hasn't had to deal with zloo-flix himself in ages. For Ferengi who can afford it, a few pricey hyposprays and a purchased temporary partner were all one needed to ride out the zloo-mot before it became zloo-flix. But Quark's never been in that particular income bracket, so...

Well, Brunt knows he's not Quark's first choice (or second, or possibly third) for a target mate. But he's still a _choice_ , and somehow being around him is enough to stave off the zloo-flix for now. Perhaps the bonding hormones from their previous encounters were stronger than he thought.

Brunt smiles.

 

* * *

 

"Your bedroom's ugly," Quark informs him as soon as they step inside.

Brunt's smile fades. "What's wrong with my bedroom?"

"The walls, for one thing." Quark frowns as he scans the room. "I mean, beige? Really? You couldn't have picked something less bland?"

"It makes the furniture stand out," Brunt explains with as much patience as he can muster. He's paid handsomely for the set - onyx aquilarian wood, rare and highly sought after, easily worth more than Quark's entire income from the past year.

Quark makes another face. "Your furniture's hideous, too. I can't believe you got a headboard for your bed. Circular beds shouldn't have headboards."

Exasperated, Brunt lets go of Quark's hand and shoves Quark towards the bed. "Then lie down so you don't have to look at it anymore."

(It's not a hard shove - he barely expends any force as he palms the space between Quark's shoulderblades, moving his hand in a brief caress before pushing him forward.)

Quark yelps a dramatically overexaggerated yelp as he flops down onto the mattress, ass in the air, bouncing up and down a little on the firm surface. Then he makes a surprised noise as he lies prone on Brunt's duvet.

"Comfortable?" Brunt asks smarmily. The duvet's filled with 1,000-power authentic Risian goose-down and the cover's made from the finest Tholian silk. It's the envy of everyone he's ever allowed to share his bed.

"No," Quark replies, voice muffled by the covers, and Brunt _knows_ it's solely to be contrary, but before he can tell Quark exactly how luxurious his duvet is, Quark starts shimmying out of his lingerie shorts. "Now hurry up and fuck me."

The sound of fabric softly sliding down Quark's naked thighs is more than enough encouragement, and Brunt almost trips over his own feet as he rushes over. He curses to himself as he struggles to toe off his boots before joining Quark in bed. The delay makes Quark sigh heavily.

"You're slower than a slug," Quark complains.

The boots hit the floor - Brunt's finally gotten them off - and he climbs in, bemused.

"A _slug_?" Brunt repeats, reaching for the hem of Quark's shorts. He tugs them down over Quark's thigh-highs, noting the dampness from Quark's arousal, then drops them to the floor. "That's unimaginative even for you, Quark, but I suppose you can't help..."

Quark glances back over his shoulder and gives Brunt a smirk.

_That was his plan all along, wasn't it? Insult me so I'd treat him more roughly?_

_Infuriating brat._

Brunt crawls up the bed to kiss that smirk away, drinking in the appreciative whimpers Quark makes into his mouth. He rolls Quark over with a push on the shoulder, until Quark's lying supine on the bed, wrists up and legs spread underneath him. Breathing heavily, Brunt scrambles to undo the fly of his pants, then rolls them down just enough to for him to take himself in hand and guide himself in.

He wishes he could permanently record how Quark cries out when he makes that first push inside. It feels so good, so _right_ , the soft walls giving way to his hard cock, the way Quark's slick entrance tightens around him, how easily they fit together. He thrusts forward and _feels_ Quark moan underneath him, the vibrations traveling through his sternum like an erotic massage, and he moans right back, guttural and low. The tone makes Quark convulse in pleasure, so he does it again, and again, until Quark's raking long lines along his back. If Brunt didn't still have his clothes on, the scratches might have been too deep.

Mindful of the way his latinum bar necklace digs into their chests, Brunt twists away just enough to remove it and toss it aside, and Quark whines wordlessly at the abrupt end to their kiss, rocking desperately against him. The sound is so plaintive and sweet to Brunt's ears that he cradles Quark's head when he kisses him again, hands gently stroking the outside curves of Quark's lobes as he fucks him into the mattress.

Quark whimpers and clenches wetly around him with each stroke, arching his back so he can press his ears against Brunt's nimble fingers even more. A smug thought crosses Brunt's mind - the Karemma couldn't do _that_. None of the offworlder degenerates soiling Quark with their _barbaric_ touches could match him in oo-mox skill, and they certainly couldn't trigger the specific Ferengi bonding hormones he shares with Quark, and no one else could bring Quark to orgasm quite like he could.

Just a simple drag of the fingernails here, timed with a forceful thrust and a lovingly whispered endearment there -

" _Brunt_ ," Quark cries, clenching hard around him, and that's all Brunt needs to follow suit with an orgasm of his own.

 

* * *

 

"You said 'treasure' again," Quark informs him.

"Did I?" Brunt mumbles into Quark's neck. He lazily runs a hand down Quark's naked arm. "Don't remember doing that."

"You did," Quark insists. He lightly pets the back of Brunt's head. "And you said it last time, too. You like calling me that."

"You're delusional," Brunt says sleepily. "But if that makes you feel any better, go ahead."

Quark falls silent for a moment, then says, "I think it makes _you_ feel better."

"Mm-hmm. Whatever you say, Quark."

"Don't fall asleep on me," Quark whines. "You're heavy."

Brunt presses an irritated kiss to Quark's jaw. "You're annoying."

But he does roll over onto his side, just enough to stop weighing Quark down, then pulls Quark close again for a cuddle.

"Didn't you say you have dinner reservations?"

Brunt drops a kiss on Quark's shoulder. "Mm-hmm."

"And you're paying."

"Of course," Brunt murmurs.

"So we should clean up, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

Quark wriggles in his grasp. "Brunt, let go of me so I can take a shower."

Frowning, Brunt opens his eyes. "Dinner's not for another two hours."

"Yeah, but you're not the one with come dripping out of them." And Quark squirms uncomfortably against his arms. "Let go."

A slow smile spreads across Brunt's face. He likes being reminded that he came inside Quark. "Ah."

Suddenly a pair of meticulously manicured fingers snap in front of his face, and Brunt flinches, releasing Quark from his embrace.

Shaking his head, Quark rolls out of bed, wobbling slightly as he walks towards the bathroom.

Brunt lies on his side and watches him go. The bed feels unpleasantly empty in Quark's absence. It reminds him that Quark's visit is only temporary, and won't last longer than the zloo-flix does.

He supposes it'll feel worse when Quark finally leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinnertime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing particularly explicit about this chapter, besides a few glimpses into Brunt's imagination.

Brunt doesn't like how the waiter keeps speaking to Quark.

The flirting, he understands. It's a matter of course in the restaurant industry - in essentially every industry on Ferenginar - so the waiter would be stupid _not_ to flirt with the Nagus's brother. That's all fine, more or less.

But the waiter's tone of voice goes beyond customary flirting. It's a clear response to the incessant waves of pheromones that Quark's body radiates to any and all potential mating partners within proximity. The waiter's tone is firmly in the "I want to take you out back and fuck the zloo-flix out of you" territory where Quark is concerned, and that's _Brunt's_ territory, not anyone else's, especially not some rangy snooty upstart named _Qonathan._

Qonathan!

What a disgustingly _multi-syllabic_ name!

If Brunt still had access to the Nausicaan mercenaries he used to employ, he would gladly order them to break Qonathan's various extremities, just for the sheer arrogance of flirting with Quark in front of him.

His eyes bore holes in the back of Qonathan's head as he leaves with their dinner orders.

Quark's in a terrific mood after all that attention. He turns back to Brunt with a maddeningly smug smile on his face.

"What a _nice_ man," Quark says, cheeks faintly flushed. "So observant! The waiters at my bar could learn a thing or two from Qonathan. Did you hear what he said about my ears?"

"Yes," Brunt replies curtly. His fingers twitch. He wants to pull Quark onto his lap, and he would, if the blasted table wasn't in the way. "They are, indeed, symmetrical."

" _Beautifully_ symmetrical," Quark corrects, leaning his chin on his hands. "No one's ever said my ears were beautifully symmetrical before. Feels nice being appreciated for once."

Brunt takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly. He smiles. He leans forward on the table and strokes Quark's arm with a proprietary finger. " _I_ appreciate you."

Quark bats his hand away. "Brunt, please. Don't try so hard - it's _such_ a turn-off."

As Quark moves, Brunt gets another whiff of Quark's idiosyncratic scent. It's intoxicating. Everything about Quark is alluring and seductive, from the way his clothes wrap up his body like a gift, to the admittedly very beautiful symmetry of his ears.

Brunt reminds himself that he only feels this way because of the zloo-flix. Obviously, it's only because of the zloo-flix infecting his brain chemistry, _contaminating_ the bonding hormones he shares with Quark. Bonding hormones that the waiter (with all his _superfluous_ syllables) certainly doesn't share.

"You're creepy when you're quiet," Quark pipes up. He's scrutinizing Brunt with a suspicious frown, and his knitted browridges look adorable. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?" Brunt asks, distracted by how much he wants to kiss Quark's frown off his hot little mouth.

Quark shrugs. "Dunno. Just _something_. I'm your dinner date, keep me entertained."

 _His_ dinner date.

"My dinner date," Brunt says with satisfaction.

"So, y'know, talk to me. I mean, I know we're just killing time before we fuck again, but..." Quark's eyes light up. " _Unless_..."

"Unless what?"

"Our orders aren't coming out right away." Quark leans in, lowers his voice. "We could have a quickie in the bathroom."

Brunt swallows hard. "Excuse me?"

The thought of fucking Quark in the bathroom briefly tempts him- it'd be such a lovely way to reclaim his territory, and undoubtedly the entire restaurant would hear Quark's desperate whimpers and moans while he rides up the wall, clenching around Brunt's cock.

And Brunt certainly plans on revisiting the scenario later, in bed, as a fantasy.

But only as a fantasy.

Because no self-respecting Ferengi in his right mind would want to have sex in a _restaurant bathroom_ , even in a high-end award-winning restaurant's bathroom. The germs, the discomfort, the complete lack of bragging rights over furniture and decor...

"That'd be fun, huh?" Quark grins. "We could grab a stall, in, out, bang, and our food's ready when we get back."

"You're joking," Brunt replies.

"I'm not, actually." Quark licks his lips, and Brunt notices that his eyes aren't just lit up, but almost feverishly bright, like a zealot trying to convert a nonbeliever.

(Ferengi afflicted with zloo-flix would stop at nothing to deal with the mating urge, personal safety be damned.)

"It's the zloo-flix talking," Brunt tells him, as patiently as he can. "It's making you reckless, and that is _precisely_ why you're supposed to be with another Ferengi when your target mate is unavailable. Without a sufficient response to your bonding hormones, the zloo-flix is going unchecked, and -"

"I know, I know, you can stop explaining," Quark interrupts, irritated. "And pain messes up the bonding hormones, so everything keeps intensifying, and so on and so on. It's not _my_ fault that my target mate's now part of a sentient ocean of goo, okay?"

The vehemence in Quark's voice is startling. Brunt knew the vague outline of Odo departing the Alpha Quadrant for the Changeling homeworld, but the anguished undertone to Quark's bitterness is far more sincere and vulnerable than Brunt had anticipated.

He wants to run around the table and sweep Quark up in a tight embrace.

But they're not at that level. They may never be at that level. Quark would only tolerate his embrace in the bedroom, after sex. And even then, not for long.

So Brunt tries to reply in the most soothing register he can. "Quark. It's not your fault."

"I know it's not," Quark sighs, shoulders sagging. "I _just_ told you."

Brunt smiles. "Okay."

"And don't think I don't know the tone of voice you're using on me." Quark sniffs. "It's patronizing."

"Okay," Brunt says again, still using the same soothing tone, because he can tell it's working. It's the aural version of giving Quark a consoling backrub, or a soft nuzzle on the nose.

(He doubts the Karemma could ever hit that specific subtle register. He's certain Odo never could. The man couldn't even shapeshift a decent set of lobes, for Exchequer's sake.)

Quark looks at him for a moment longer, then glances away. "Ugh. Can't wait for the food to arrive."

Brunt nods. "Mm-hmm."

 

* * *

 

Qonathan returns with their food, setting the plates down professionally and precisely, with just the right amount of artistic flourish. He's clearly excellent at his job.

Brunt despises him. Everything about him. From the ostentatious tailoring of his waiter's uniform to the studied affectations of his mannerisms to the way he keeps talking to Quark in _that tone_.

The sheer _effrontery_ of it!

There he goes now, that _waiter_ \- leaning close to Quark's ear, speaking close enough for his foul breath to ghost along Quark's delicate skin.

"I've ensured the grubs are extra tender," Qonathan murmurs to Quark, who hangs on his every word like it's dipped in latinum. "Better suited for your... _sensitive_ mouth."

Quark grins back up at him, dreamily. " _Thank_ you, Qonathan. You're so attentive."

The waiter dips his head in acknowledgement. "I do try. And, if there's anything I can do for you - _anything_ \- please don't hesitate to ask."

"Of course," Quark says, like he and Qonathan are the only two people in the room, and Brunt isn't sitting right there, _watching_ and _hearing_ this nauseating display unfold before him.

Another pleased nod from Qonathan, then the waiter departs.

Quark turns back to his food, eyes downcast in demure pleasure, blushing all the way to his lobes.

"We shouldn't have left our raincloaks at the door," Brunt grumbles. "The way he was _salivating_ all over you! I'm surprised your shoulder's not completely drenched by now."

Quark's eyes flick up. They're sparkling with amusement. It's deeply obnoxious.

"Sounds like _someone's_ jealous," Quark says with relish. He leans forward and plucks a grub from his bowl, caressing it with his tongue before sucking the whole thing into his mouth.

What Brunt _should_ be thinking of is the image of Quark sucking him into his mouth, eyes falling shut and choking on whimpers in his throat, muffled noises of pleasure and protest at the indignity of it all. Quark on his knees, pretty and distressed.

(Brunt hates that he thinks Quark is _pretty_ for a Ferengi. No Ferengi male has any business looking like that.)

Instead, all Brunt can think of is Quark with that _presumptuous_ river weed of a waiter, _clawing_ at Quark's body with those second-class hands. Quark succumbing to that oily _restaurant worker_ and his _poor_ attempts at seduction, which unfortunately seem to be appealing to Quark in a way that Brunt can't replicate nor buy, and it hurts more than anything to think about.

It makes Brunt want to throw down a stack of latinum so they can ditch dinner and rush back to his place, away from _Qonathan_ , away from any other lascivious leering men eager to solve Quark's zloo-flix with brute force and repeated sex.

"You've gone creepily quiet again," Quark remarks, still leaning on his elbows towards him. He waves his fork at Brunt's bowl. "And you haven't even touched your food!"

"I can afford to waste it," Brunt replies distantly. Though now that Quark mentions it, the rich scent is certainly appetizing.

"Well if you're not going to eat any..." Quark reaches over and neatly spears a slice of brined sea grubs, extra juicy with salted marinade.

There's something pleasingly intimate about Quark sharing his food.

Brunt smiles.

Quark scowls. "That was _supposed_ to annoy you."

"It doesn't." Brunt nudges his bowl closer to Quark. "Here. Take more."

Quark's scowl deepens. "No, thanks."

"I can tell you like it." Brunt grins. He tilts the bowl so Quark can get a better whiff. "Go on."

Obstinate as Quark is, even he can't resist the allure of quality expensive cuisine. He narrows his eyes at Brunt for a moment, but then his inherent greed takes over - a reassuringly Ferengi shift in emotion - and he helps himself to even more of Brunt's food.

"Only because you're being weird about it," Quark clarifies, transferring a heaping amount of grubs into his bowl. "And because I like taking things."

" _My_ things," Brunt emphasizes.

"Things," Quark de-emphasizes. He nods towards the bowl. "Now shut up and eat."

Brunt raises his browridges as he pulls the bowl back. "I thought you didn't like my silence."

"Only when it's the only thing you're doing." Quark shrugs. "If you're eating, that's fine."

"If you say so," Brunt says chipperly.

He can't explain it. Quark taking his grubs has put him in a terrific mood.

He supposes he can tolerate finishing dinner in the restaurant after all.

 

* * *

 

Conversation flows a little more easily after that. It's easier when they both have something to turn to besides each other, an automatic source of discussion - the restaurant's pedigree, the quality of the meal, the reputation of the chef, and the decor choices. 

Quark is surprisingly astute when it comes to the practical vs purely decorative aspects of the restaurant, and Brunt suspects Quark's enjoying the opportunity to observe the newest developments in Ferengi interior design - not that Quark would ever admit it directly. 

In any other set of circumstances, Brunt could almost believe they were on a normal date.

 

* * *

 

"Could I tempt you with anything from our dessert menu?" Qonathan asks at the end of dinner.

At first, Quark looks intrigued - he beams up at the waiter with expectant ears, ready for more entendres and flirtation.

"What do you recommend?" Quark asks, batting his eyes.

Brunt folds his arms in irritation. He catches Quark's gaze briefly flicker to him before returning to rest on Qonathan's obnoxiously sculpted face.

Unsubtly, Qonathan leans close to Quark as he pretends to deliberate, angling the menu padd towards Quark's face so they can both read it at once.

That's fine, Brunt thinks. He doesn't need to see the menu, and he certainly doesn't want the waiter to lean that close to him with his common, _vulgar_ breath.

He wishes Quark thought the same way.

Quark and Qonathan lean so close to each other that their ears almost touch, and Brunt's so distracted and despairing at the sight that he can't help but watch it happen, the whole humiliating close-up of it, until -

"And these seasonal honeyed larvae," Qonathan points out, "are _especially_ gelatinous."

There's a sudden chill in the air. Brunt's reminded of the time he observed someone winning triple dabo at Quark's establishment. Even though Quark had plastered on a congratulatory smile, he was clearly displeased - his entire body communicated it, even if his face didn't.

(Brunt supposes the waiter couldn't have _possibly_ known that the mere mention of gelatinous honey would remind Quark of that _Changeling_...)

Quark's smile remains, but he leans away from Qonathan so noticeably that the waiter glances back at him in surprise.

"No thanks," Quark says lightly. "Sounds delicious. But I think I'll pass on dessert tonight after all. I'm just _so_ full from that wonderful meal."

"Are you sure?" Qonathan asks, sounding as courteous and attentive as ever, but also clearly bewildered by the sudden shift in Quark's mood.

"I'm sure," Quark replies. He glances over his shoulder. "Brunt, you want anything?"

At the sound of his name coming out of Quark's mouth, Brunt nearly fumbles his glass, then sets it down hard against the table.

"I, uhhhh... no?" Brunt says, or rather asks. (He dimly recalls Nagus Rom's pre-Nagus manner of speech - not that his tics have changed much since he took office.)

Quark raises a browridge at him - perhaps he's noticed, too - then firmly shoves the menu padd back into Qonathan's hands.

"He'll take the check now," Quark says, nodding towards Brunt.

"Oh." Qonathan blinks, then nods. "Of course." He straightens back up. "Right away."

They both watch the waiter leave - a slight sag to his shoulders, which Brunt revels in - and Quark turns back to Brunt.

Brunt beams at him.

"Don't look so smug," Quark sniffs. "It makes your face wrinkle up."

"Don't care," Brunt replies, still beaming. "I'll just apply some extra moisturizer when we get back."

Quark rolls his eyes. "Yeah, like that'll do anything."

"It will," Brunt says with confidence. He's feeling very confident again as he lets his eyes slowly rake along Quark's moistened lips and naked jaw.

(Quark's jaw is always naked, of course, but somehow that fact just seems so much more _alluring_ at this moment.)

He thinks about stripping Quark of his jacket and shirt, and unwrapping his personal dessert when they get home.

Before Quark can complain about his so-called 'creepy' silence once more, Qonathan returns with the check padd, which he sets unceremoniously in front of Brunt.

(But still with the utmost professionalism, nevertheless.)

The amount is extortionate, as is to be expected from a quality grubberie, but it's still paltry compared to Brunt's coffers. He throws in a substantial (but not generous - never generous) tip for Qonathan as well. Salt in the wound. He wants to make sure the waiter knows how much he can afford, and if it doesn't seem completely logical to tip him even more to do so, Brunt doesn't care.

He finishes his edits on the padd, then hands it back to Qonathan with as false a smile as he can muster.

"Thank you," Brunt tells him.

"My pleasure," Qonathan replies, equally artificially. He turns to look back at Quark upon the word _pleasure,_ but Quark doesn't even bother glancing up from his personal padd.

Clearly disappointed, the waiter slinks away.

 

* * *

 

It's pouring outside when they exit the grubberie. They wait by the doors for Brunt's personal transport vehicle to arrive.

As they wait, Quark leans up to speak in Brunt's ear.

"Fuck me in the backseat," Quark whispers, reaching up to run his fingers along Brunt's lobes with a teasing touch. "I don't want to wait any longer."

Brunt swallows hard. His hand shoots up to Quark's wrist, then he turns his head to look Quark in the eyes.

"If you continue giving me oo-mox in public," Brunt murmurs, "I might not be able to wait any longer, either."

Quark grins. He tugs on his trapped wrist, pulling Brunt closer for a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely something explicit about this chapter. A little on the shorter side, as it's just the one scene.

They're already all over each other as soon as they get into the transport vehicle, and Brunt sets up the autopilot and puts up the noise-canceling partition (one could never be too cautious with eavesdropping devices nowadays). 

He pushes Quark down onto the plush cushions of the vehicle's backseat, revels in the slight resistance of Quark's body against the leather. He's got Quark trapped, right where he wants him.

Quark stares up at him with those feverishly bright eyes in silence for a moment, then blinks and reaches for the clasp of Brunt's jacket.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Brunt reaches around him to undo the clasp of Quark's trousers, lifting Quark's hips slightly to roll them down. He hears Quark release a soft, surrendering noise, and it makes Brunt want to hear more. 

He slides his hands up Quark's thighs, palming Quark's heated skin with a proprietary touch. He pauses to hold Quark by the waist, pull him close, then trails a hand downwards. 

A beautifully strained whine escapes from Quark's mouth when Brunt inserts a finger inside him.

It's easy. Brunt makes a surprised sound and slides the finger in deeper. It's so easy that it makes Brunt's stomach twist. He curls his fingertip against Quark's soft inner walls, marveling.

"You're so wet for me," he breathes, and Quark clenches down with a whimper.

"I can't help it," Quark gasps. "The zloo-flix, it's making me -" He rolls his hips back against Brunt's hand with a greedy desperation. "Brunt, please...!"

Brunt drops his head to Quark's shoulder and closes his eyes.

"I know," Brunt murmurs. He slips another finger inside, then groans at the sound Quark makes in response. _Easy. So easy._ "I know it's just the disease." 

"More," Quark pleads. "Brunt, more - _ah!_ "

He scissors his fingers, stroking Quark from the inside out. The zloo-flix amplifies his touch, sets Quark's nerves alight, so much that Brunt doesn't _have_ to stretch him to get him ready - Quark's so wet, so open, it would be the easiest thing in the world - but he _wants_ to make it better for Quark before he pushes inside. 

Quark arches his back to thrust himself back down onto Brunt's fingers. He's trembling. Brunt lifts his head up to take a good look at him, and Quark looks gorgeous underneath him, pinned down and distraught with desire. 

Brunt crooks his fingers, pressing ever so deliberately against Quark's most delicate areas, and Quark jerks sharply against him, panting.

"Now," Quark begs, rocking on Brunt's hand, his hands plaintively scrabbling at Brunt to pull him in between his legs. "Brunt, please, please, I need you, please -"

Brunt groans at the raw desperation in Quark's voice - it spurs him on, makes him fumble to roll down his trousers fast enough. His hands shake as he lines himself up, Quark's breathy exhortations burning his lobes, until finally -

The first push inside makes them both cry out. Brunt grips onto the backseat to brace himself, and Quark sinks back onto him with a noise of relief.

Brunt can barely think, much less think of words to say, as he thrusts into Quark. Each movement makes Quark gasp and tighten around him in response, and Brunt thinks he might drown in those sweet little submissive noises filling his ears. He kisses up Quark's neck and Quark shivers, he mouths along Quark's ear and drags out a deliciously loud moan. He curls an arm around the top of Quark's head, treasuring each and every sound he can provoke, tucking them away in his memory for the lonely nights ahead, when Quark's back on that blasted _station_ waiting for a Changeling who might never return.

It all collides in Brunt's mind, the resentment, the lust, the anguish, the way Quark says his name like he actually _likes_ him instead of only liking his body. 

He guides Quark towards a hard and fast orgasm, and he can tell from the pitch of Quark's cries and the salty tears trickling onto his tongue that Quark is nearing his peak, so he rolls his hips as forcefully as he can, and soon Quark's sobbing into his shoulder and spasming around him, and Brunt's so close he can nearly taste it.

" _Mine_ ," Brunt growls into Quark's ear, and that's all it takes.

He slams into Quark one last time, then collapses on top of him, pressing a messy kiss to Quark's neck.

Quark tolerates approximately five seconds of Brunt pinning him down to the backseat, then rolls over onto his side, facing away.

But he's still letting Brunt cuddle him from behind, and Brunt will take his victories, however small, wherever he can get them.

He smiles into the back of Quark's neck and breathes in his scent, then tightens his arms around Quark's feverish body. 

They lie there in silence for the rest of the trip home.


End file.
